


A Proposal for Satinalia

by KuraNova



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, and cheeseballs, secret santa 2015, shameless tooth-rotting fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-20
Updated: 2015-12-20
Packaged: 2018-05-07 21:13:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5470976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KuraNova/pseuds/KuraNova
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sebastian has spent the last several holiday seasons alone. This year, he believes the festivities will end in much the same way, with a cold bed and a lonely heart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Proposal for Satinalia

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MostHopelessofRomantics](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MostHopelessofRomantics/gifts).



> I love you sooo much MHR! Merry Christmas, my giant , fluffy cheeseball!

Sebastian inhaled deeply despite the frigid evening air. The ground beneath his feet was frozen solid, giving not at all as he shifted to widen his stance and balance himself. Snowfall had been light this year, as it always was in Starkhaven around Satinalia. That did not stop the faint dusting of the stuff from chilling his nose and tips of his ears, and dampening the fine hairs at the back of his neck.  
  
“Your Majesty, please come inside. You’ve been out here for hours now.”  
  
He ignored his advisor, not the least bit keen on going back inside to play to the whims and fantasies of the court. He was King, damn it. He’d not spend another moment in the sour company of the nobility seeking his favor on a holiday - half of whom attempting to do so by slithering into his bed.  
  
Sebastian grumbled archly to himself, focusing ahead. His fingers ran along the shaft of his arrow, thumb absently flicking the feathered fletching as his eyes narrowed on his target. Steadily, he exhaled, attempting to bleed his body of the tension coiled in his muscles before he let his arrow fly. As ever, his aim was true, and the pleasant  _thunk_  of the arrowhead sinking into the straw target served as a bit of cathartic release. Despite his disinterest in the way his countryman insinuated themselves into his holiday, he could, at the very least, find some solace in good old fashioned practice.   
  
“Your Majesty…”  
  
He sighed, dropping his hand from where he’d been reaching for another arrow, and pinned his advisor with an exasperated look. “It is the final day of celebration. I have hosted feasts and balls for six days, Coll. Will you not allow me to finish out the holiday in peace?”  
  
Coll bowed his head, not bothered in the least by the King’s obvious ire. He knew Sebastian to be a kind and gentle man. He also knew him to grow rather depressed around this time of year. What with his lady love gone to the Inquisition, the King had spend two full winters now without her presence - only letters between them. Each year Sebastian would send her an invitation to Starkhaven’s annual festivities, and each year she would politely decline the offer. The woman had more important things to do, after all, but as Coll watched his king grow more despondent with each passing holiday, he hoped that her responsibility to the Inquisition would end soon, and that she would be able to return home.  
  
“As you say, sire. I will finish ushering out the remaining guests, but you should consider coming inside afterward for some mulled wine and a hot bath. If I let you have your way, you’ll catch your death out here, and then where would Starkhaven be?”  
  
Sebastian scrunched his nose at the obvious attempt to guilt him into acquiescing, but the wine  _did_ sound good. He wiggled his toes inside of his boots, realizing he could no longer feel them, numb from the cold as they were. Damn.   
  
“Putting forth nominations for a new ruler, no doubt,” Sebastian said, expression softening into a warm smile. “If you can have them out in fifteen minutes, I will be done practicing, and I’ll let you have your way. How about it?”  
  
Coll smiled in return. “As you say, Your Majesty.”  
  
Coll, Maker bless the man, had been true to his word, and when Sebastian had finally come inside, snow melting off of his hair in fat, cold drops, there had been a goblet of hot mulled wine waiting for him in his dressing room along with a copper tub filled to the brim with steaming water. He took a large swallow of wine, shivering as the drink traveled down his chilled throat to settle pleasantly in his gut. Though the beverage was just what he needed after spending, admittedly, too much time out of doors, it also made him acutely aware of his drenched clothing. Were he wearing his armor such weather would not have been a problem, but his current raiment, dictated by the event of the evening, left him little protection from the elements.   
  
Reluctantly, he set the goblet down from where it warmed his hands, white from the cold, and began to stiffly strip out of the heavy silks and velvets of his royal attire. Simple clasps were made difficult by his numbed digits, and the King puffed out an annoyed breath before instead moving to kick off his boots. He’d succeeded in freeing himself from one shoe when he thought he heard the sound of his chamber door opening and closing.   
  
“Coll?” he called, but when no one answered, he assumed he was simply hearing the room settle. However, given the dark history within these very walls, he found himself reaching into his dresser drawer for a slim, sharp dagger. One could not be too careful, after all, even if it made him seem impossibly paranoid. Several long minutes ticked by with nothing but the sound of the wind picking up outside of his window, and he finally relented placed the dagger down, though it was still within easy reach. He divested himself of his boots, managing to wrestle his wet, cumbersome doublet off of his torso. Though his skin was now bare and free of the cold fabric he felt infinitely warmer, and again reached for his goblet to take another swallow of wine.   
  
With one hand he began again to work on the clasp of his belt, and grumbled slightly when the leather didn’t give as easily as he wished.   
  
“Let me help you with that.”  
  
A pair of nimble, cold hands curved around his midsection. The goblet dropped to the floor, wine seeping into the carpet at his feet. He snatched the dagger from where it lay on his dresser, grabbed his attacker’s arm and twisted them around to stand before him, pinned between a nearby wall and his tense body. Sebastian leaned his weight into them until he could hear them wheeze, his dagger pressed firmly to a pale, white throat.  
  
“Sebastian!” the assailant croaked.  
  
It took him a moment to register the familiar timbre of her voice. He immediately tossed the dagger aside to join the goblet on the floor, and shoved the hood of her cloak over her dark head of hair in a rush.  
  
“Maker, Sorcha. Is that really you?”  
  
Sorcha wore a passably guilty expression as she grinned up at him. “Looks like I made it just in time.” Her eyes traveled a moment to the large clock standing outside the dressing room door, the hands just about to reach up toward the midnight hour, they then returned to Sebastian’s face. “I remember promising to spend the holiday with you.”  
  
He grinned in return, cupping her face with both of his hands before leaning in to kiss her soundly. “You did, and I admit that I was afraid you’d be too busy.”  
  
“I was,” Sorcha raised her hands to grasp his forearms where he still held her face, “but I managed to get Cassandra to run interference for me. I did have to go into some pretty explicit detail about our  _romance_ , though. Hope you don’t mind.”  
  
“Explicit detail?” Sebastian queried a bit nervously. Maker, what did the Seeker know about him  _now_?   
  
“Oh  _yes_ ,” she chuckled, relishing the feel of his thumbs brushing back and forth along her cheekbones. “You know how fond Cassandra is of all of that true love stuff.” Sorcha rolled a shoulder and winked at Sebastian. “I bribed her with the story about how we met,” a pause, “and the story about how you tried to woo me on that rooftop.”  
  
Sebastian snorted. “ _Tried to_?”  
  
“You succeeded, eventually,” she teased, leaning forward to place a quick kiss on his lips, then looked pointedly behind him to the steaming hot bathtub.  
  
Sebastian glanced behind him, then turned back to her with a wry grin. “Did you want to share?”  
  
“Absolutely. After all, I’ve traveled a  _long_  way, and I’m _soaking we_ t.” Sorcha gently broke his grip on her and moved toward the inviting warmth of the tub while beginning to shirk out of her leathers.  
  
Sebastian chuckled to himself at her clever emphasis before he stepped up behind her. Reaching forward, his fingertips brushed over the backs of her hands where she began to unclasp a fastening at the collar of her linen tunic. He took over for her, turning her around as he slowly loosened each clasp and worked his way down to the very last near her navel. After he had accomplished his task, however, his hands remained, and he gently, deliberately slipped his fingers beneath the fabric. His fingers skimmed across the firm expanse of her skin, and he relished at the sight of the goosebumps he left in the wake of his touch.  
  
“Cold?” Sebastian teased, then parted her tunic to tug her hips forward and pull her against him. Sorcha chuckled low in her throat, a sound that shot straight to his gut and left him feeling giddy and warm.  
  
“I think I am,” she replied with a grin, then tugged on his belt before she quickly rid him of it altogether.  
  
There was a charge in the air, a kind of electric current that had always existed between them, but whether from the time away or the distance it sparked brighter now than ever before. Soon both Sorcha and Sebastian were tearing at their remaining clothes, lips hungrily searching out their partner, fingers greedily thrumming over quivering flesh. Eventually they splashed their way into the large copper basin where Sebastian quickly took his lover up in his arms and drew long, scathing kisses down the pale column of her neck.   
  
For all his effort at trying to take things slowly, to savor the time they had together, Sebastian could scarcely contain himself. He wasn’t alone. Sorcha seemed just as desperate for him as he was for her. She lifted herself away from the wall of the tub, pressing herself against him while holding herself steady with arms around his neck and her legs around his waist. He kept her close, and wrapped one strong arm around the curve of her arse to keep her firmly in place.  
  
She whimpered when the hard length of his erection pressed against her hip - drew in a shaky breath when he bucked against her. “Sebastian,” she breathed, threading her fingers through his damp hair as it curled around her fingertips.  
  
“Yes, love?” he murmured in reply, nose buried at the nape of her neck while his teeth dragged softly against the skin there. She shuddered in his arms, limbs tightening around him as she tried to convey her desire to him with the wet heat of her arousal sliding against him. Maker, she made it bloody hard to be a gentleman about this. Then he realized, why was he even trying?   
  
With one final nip to the sensitive skin beneath her ear, Sebastian shifted to kneel in the water, bringing her with him. Gentle touches and whispered endearments could wait until later. For now, he was simply too hungry for her.  
  
Scrambling to get her bearings, Sorcha lifted herself a moment just enough to position the head of his cock against her opening. Sebastian’s hum of contentment turned into a grunt as she drove herself down upon him, and she didn’t stop to wait at all before she began to rock her hips. Slowly she rode him, getting used to being with him again before she picked up the pace, fingers curling at the back of his neck.  
  
Sebastian let her have at him for a while enduring her soft sighs and featherlight touches with what he imagined was only the most impressive mental fortitude. However, as she began to hasten, pushing herself toward her release, he took it upon himself to help them both along. A bit ashamed, he found himself, to be so undone with just a few touches, but it had been so long, and he had missed her so much.   
  
Bracing himself with one arm against the side of the basin, he snapped his hips upward, forcing a surprised squeak from Sorcha which only served to inflate his ardor. He set a brutal pace, holding her tightly against him as their movement cause the water to slosh and break over the rim of the tub. He was hardly aware of the mess he was making, and even if he were, he could not have found it in himself to care. He was a king, after all. He could do as he damn well pleased.  
  
Sorcha’s harsh breathing in his ear coupled with her mewls of pleasure left him feeling the coiling tension of release settle in his gut. The bite of her nails raking across his shoulders had him grinding his teeth, and when she finally came, her heat clenching around him, he followed unerringly.   
  
They lay against the side of the tub for a long while, sweaty and breathless, and it was with a grumbled protest from Sorcha that Sebastian finally exited the bath. He wrapped his own robe around her as he helped her from the water, then lifted her into his arms to take her to his bed. He set her down gently, and kissed her firmly on the mouth before drawing away.   
  
“Are you hungry? he asked. “There’s one thing I must do before we settle down for the night.”  
  
At the mention of food Sorcha’s eyes brightened, and the muzziness of sleep left her at once. “I would kill for some wine.”  
  
“Food, Sorcha. F. O. O. D.” Sebastian laughed, then waved her off. “Nevermind. I’ll return with something edible, as well as a healthy supply of wine.”  
  
“A man after my own heart,” she teased, tucking her feet beneath her as she shrugged further into the warmth of his robe.   
  
“I’ll be back soon,” he said, then turned to head back into his dressing room. He was entirely aware of Sorcha’s gaze on his arse as he went.  
  
“Glad you came, but I love to see you go!” She called after him with a snigger.  
  
Sebastian tugged on his damp pants, quickly fastening them before leaving his rooms and heading to the treasury. He hadn’t expected to run into Coll on the way. His steward had taken one look at him, wet, disheveled, and most assuredly flushed from his lovemaking.  
  
“I take it Lady Trevelyan has finally made an appearance?” he asked, gaze flicking to the raised scratched running over his shoulders.  
  
Sebastian cleared his throat, clearly embarrassed. “Ah, yes.”  
  
“Is there anything I can do for you?”  
  
Sebastian found himself suddenly grateful for the man’s appearance. “Actually, yes.”  
  
He then sent Coll on his way to find some wine and food, while he then continued on his way through the doors of the treasury. He paid little attention to the gilt boxes and baubles stacked atop one another, instead heading straight for an ordinary looking, if not finely crafted, armoire. Upon opening the doors he found yet another box. this one was settled among many others along with a seemingly hopelessly tangled mass of rings and necklaces. He carefully lifted the small box from the pile and opened the lid to check.  
  
His grandmother’s ring was still there, twinkling brightly even in the muted light. Grinning to himself, he snapped the lid shut and hurried back to Sorcha.  
  
By the time he had returned to her Coll had already come and gone, for Sorcha was perched upon his large bed facing a roaring fire with a heavy glass of wine held gingerly between her palms. He considered her a moment as he stood in the doorway, his heart swelling with joy at the sight of her, and he seemed more sure of the weight of the box in his pocket.   
  
“Sorcha,” he called softly, the gentle burr of his accent carrying across the room to her.   
  
She turned immediately, springing up from the bed and setting down her glass before she approached him. She wore a quiet smile as she drew near and reached out to take his hands in hers.   
  
“Finished with everything?” she asked  
  
“Not quite,” he replied, and only felt a bit guilty at the flicker of disappointment on her face.  
  
It didn’t last long.   
  
Clearing his throat, Sebastian brushed his thumbs across her knuckles, then dropped to the ground. On one knee, he took a deep breath and looked up at her face which, much to his pleasure, had turned a rather charming shade of scarlet.   
  
“Sorcha Trevelyan,” he began, enjoying the sight of her apparent nervousness. It made him feel bolder, and he needed all of the courage he could muster for the question he was going to ask. “Would you-”  
  
“Yes!”  
  
He chuckled. “I haven’t even asked you, yet! Let me finish!”  
  
With all her strength, which was no small amount, she hefted him off of the floor and drug him backwards toward the bed. “You don’t need to. Yes. My answer is yes.”  
  
He tried to speak again but she muffled his protest with a volley of kisses. They fell together onto the soft downy mattress, and when the impact jostled her lips away from his, he seized his opportunity. He snatched the box from his pocket, opened it, and asked her again.   
  
“SorchaTrevelyanwillyoupleasedomethehonorofbecomingmywife.” It was rushed, but complete, and when he thrust his grandmother’s ring onto her finger Sorcha laughed.  
  
“You always have to do everything by the book, don’t you?”  
  
“You know me. I’m a hopeless romantic,” he replied with a pleased grin.  
  
“The most hopeless of romantics,” she agreed, drawing him in for another kiss, “and I love you for it.”


End file.
